


Life Out Of The Ruins

by FebobeFic_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebobeFic_Archivist/pseuds/FebobeFic_Archivist
Summary: Greetings, everyone, and welcome to "Life Out Of The Ruins," the sequel to "Joy From Ashes," my Waymeet Crack Me Up challenge fic.Following the Quest, a gravely injured Frodo has been taken by Gandalf into the 21st century, where Frodo has found life-saving aid. . .and small pleasures unlooked-for. The daily life "adventures" of Frodo and his companions as they cope with the aftermath of the Quest in the 21st century.
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to SurgicalSteel and Riddlemaster, without whom this story, like "Joy From Ashes," would not have come together. An extra-special thank-you goes to both lovely ladies for their openness to questions, tireless answers, and general good-natured encouragement of the author. This fic is presented in vignettes rather than strict "chapters" and may occasionally make use of flashbacks and flashforwards, remaining within the 21st century timeframe (ie, you might get a Christmas or Thanksgiving fic at a time not strictly in keeping with their first Christmas or Thanksgiving in our world, if you're counting vignettes as days! Don't count vignettes as days; it will only confuse and frustrate reader and author alike. :) )

"Well, I don't know. It still don't seem *natural*," protested Sam as Aragorn led him into the hobbits' kitchen. "I mean - what's next? Mr. Frodo gone to another time, and then *us* gone to another time with him, and now Mr. Boromir not dead - begging your pardon if I keep feeling like that knock on my head hit me one too hard, if you take my meaning."

Aragorn smiled. "Just step inside, Sam. Take a look around. See whether there's anything you like."

"I don't know as I'll like any of it till I see Mr. Frodo safe and sound." Suddenly Sam's breath caught, and he ventured a few steps forward, then looked tentatively back at Aragorn. "Is - is it - all right?"

"Of course it is, Sam. They were purchased especially for you."

"They were?" Sam's eyes widened as he approached the vast assortment of beautiful pans set out upon the counter-top - everything from good plain metal to solid cast-iron skillets. There was a replacement for every single pan he had had to throw away in Mordor, and many more besides...more than he had ever owned in his entire life. His eyes welled up with tears at the thought that must have gone into such a gift. In addition, the kitchen was supplied with a great many tools, several of which Sam had never even set eyes on before.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I don't rightly know how to use some of this proper. . . ."

"It is all right, Sam." Aragorn smiled warmly. "The pans I am sure you know how to use better than any of us. And the items you have not seen before we can teach you. There are ways to make special smooth drinks and soups for your Mr. Frodo, to crush ice and quickly chop fruits and vegetables. . .there are all sorts of things these tools can help us do. And those of us who know how to use them will gladly teach you and your fellows."

Sam couldn't help himself. He burst into tears. Tenderly Aragorn placed one of the saucepans in his sturdy hands.

"It is finished, Sam," he said softly, "and all will be mended, such as it can be."


	2. Chapter 2

Frodo snuggled cosily beneath his covers, yawning. It had been such a long day. He was glad to be home. . .even if home was strange and new. It still seemed like home in comparison to the hospital, and much quieter, even with the constant bustle of eight other people around the house. No one woke him up to ask how he was sleeping; no one told him when to use the bath-room or get up or lie down or sent away his friends, though he noticed that the others took care not to overstay their visits, as if afraid of tiring him. 

Pippin and Sam and Merry had taken charge of showing him about his rooms, including the step-stool that enabled him to reach the sink, and the beautiful bathing-tub set into the floor, so that he had only to climb in and out of it. He felt rather embarrassed to realise that he had likely been given the best bedroom in the entire house, but his attempts at protesting met with three stern gazes and a gentle escort back to bed, where he was promptly tucked in by Sam, brought fresh water by Pippin, and reassured by Merry that all was well, that their rooms were very nice indeed, and that these were the best rooms for his care. . ."so don't give it another thought, you stubborn Baggins."

But that had been some while ago, and Frodo was admittedly beginning to feel hungry. He considered ringing the bell to ask what time supper would be, and idly wondered *what* it would be. Anything would be better than the hospital's food, surely - it had been fine, but nothing like home cooking or the food they prepared for him in Rivendell. He supposed it was because the kitchen staff had to cook for such a great many people at once every day. 

Reaching for the bell, he suddenly paused.

He could hear voices in the front hall.

And one was a woman's voice. 

Curiously he strained to listen; not even the heightened sensitivities afforded him by carrying the Ring for so long would allow him to make out the words, but it was definitely a woman's voice. . .and it sounded vaguely familiar, too. He wondered whom it could be. Within another five minutes, however, Gandalf came to the door, smiling.

"Frodo, are you feeling up to a special visitor? I think that this one might make you feel better."

"They all have." Eagerly Frodo sat up, allowing the wizard to approach and prop pillows behind him. "Who is it? Is it the lady?"

Gandalf laughed. "Little pitchers have big ears! Yes, Frodo, it is a lady." He turned back to the doorway. "Come in."

Sure enough, in came a woman of the Big Folk with hair of golden-brown hue, shoulder-length or a bit shorter. Unlike some of the Big Folk Frodo had seen, she was pleasantly chubby, with soft curves to her figure and face, which Frodo preferred over the angularity of the thinner women he had seen. . .this woman reminded him more of a ladyhobbit, except that her ears and feet were those of an ordinary Big Person, and her hair was fairly straight. But what was more - he recognised her. 

"Hello, Frodo. Do you remember me?" 

Her voice was gentle, and, now that she was closer, *very* familiar. He hesitated, struggling to find the name.

"Al. . .Allison? You took care of me the first place they took me. . .after the. . .the operation."

"Yes." She smiled. "You're looking *much* better than the last time I saw you, if I may say so, Mr. Baggins."

"Frodo. . .please, just Frodo's fine." Noticing that she carried a large basket, he motioned to her at once. "Please, forgive me, sit down."

"Thank you." Taking a seat on the cushions beside Frodo's bed, she turned the basket so that he could see into it easily. "I happened to run into Gandalf in the cafeteria when he was getting some coffee one day this week, and he told me you were about to come home, so I thought you might like a little surprise. Part of it is with Sam in the kitchen, being put into the freezer, but I thought you might like to see part of it now."

"Thank you." Curiously Frodo leaned forward, discovering a host of items buried within the basket. Allison dug out two small cards and handed them to him.

"Those are getting kind of buried in there, so I'd better hand them to you. If you like, you can put them up somewhere, or leave them in the basket, or give them to Gandalf for safekeeping."

"What are they?" Frodo studied the colourful cards curiously: one bore the words, "DAVIS-KIDD BOOKSELLERS" on it, while the other read, 

"WILLIAMS-SONOMA."

"Gift cards. They're for fifty dollars each. You take them to those stores, and get what you want, and the clerk will take that amount off your purchase. In short, you can spend up to fifty dollars at no cost to you."

Frodo's eyes widened. "You shouldn't have, really. . .but thank you!" 

She laughed. "You're welcome. Davis-Kidd is a bookstore, obviously, and Williams-Sonoma has some cookbooks; they specialise in all sorts of kitchen things, so I thought you might be able to find something useful there."

"I'm sure I can."

"These - " Allison gestured to several colourful bags in the basket. " - are smoothies. Frozen, of course, so they'll have to go into the freezer soon, unless you want one now, but they're homemade smoothies for you. I brought over two of each kind, except for the sleepy tea, and there's four of it, just in case you want a little something extra to help you get to sleep at night. It has chamomile in it." She hesitated a minute, as if thinking. 

"Smoothies are fruit drinks. There's a tool I use in the kitchen, and Gandalf tells me you all have one too, called a blender. It mixes the fruit together smoothly with other ingredients, like milk or fruit drinks or sherbet or nectar."

"Oh!" Frodo nodded understandingly, looking through the bags. Sleepy Tea, Sickness Solution, Hydro-Tonic, Peachy Keen, Raspberry Refueler, 

Apple a la Mode. "They sound interesting. . .I think I'll like these."

"They're very good for breakfast or between-meal snacks to help you get enough nourishment." Allison smiled. "Come to that. . .do you like chicken soup?"

Frodo nodded eagerly.

"Well, I've brought chicken noodle soup for supper. . .with raspberry rice pudding for dessert. Do you think you could manage a bit of that?"

"Oh, yes!" 

Allison laughed. "Then I'll go ahead and get a tray fixed for you. We've got to get you filled back out nice and proper!"

"Thank you." Frodo positively beamed as she rose.

"My pleasure."

For a long moment, Frodo watched her go, then looked up at Gandalf.

"How long has she known?"

The wizard smiled. "Longer than she let on to you. She has read the books and seen the movies, and she knows better than to believe everything that she sees on a screen. . .but it was enough to give her some idea of the suffering you have endured. She was delighted with the opportunity to care for you. From the beginning she knew who I was, though of course she never acknowledged it publicly at the hospital because the other nurses and the doctors would have thought her mad, and had her removed from your care."

"I am glad she kept it quiet, then. She was very kind to me."

"She is our next-door neighbour. Her husband is one of the chief doctors at the hospital. She works there three days a week and volunteers in a clinic on Fridays without pay, to help the needy."

"That is very kind."

"She is indeed." Gandalf lowered himself carefully to sit beside Frodo's bed for a moment. "She wished to know whether it would be all right to bring meals for your first ten evenings at home. The first week and a half you will need time to get your strength back, she says, and you will need more help than usual from us, and one meal might make a change. It will also ease the burden on Sam feeling that he must make certain his master has proper food. Would you be willing? I believe she is a fine cook; the soup smells delicious." 

Frodo nodded. "If it will help, I accept. . .though that is a very generous offer indeed."

"She has taken some time off from work. I believe that seeing you happy would give her more pleasure than anything else in the world." Gandalf rose, smoothing his garments, as Allison returned, bearing a supper-tray.

"All right, then! One order of chicken noodle soup, crackers, raspberry rice pudding, and chilled ginger ale coming right up!"

"Thank you." Frodo allowed her to set the tray carefully over his legs, then stirred the soup gently before trying a spoonful. It was rich with noodles and tender pieces of white chicken breast, brightly coloured carrot pieces, and bits of celery.

And it was utterly delicious.


	3. Chapter 3

Rain.

The sound woke Frodo even before he could hear footsteps in the hall - the heightened sensitivities granted him by the Ring appeared to have remained intact, so that he was highly sensitive to sound and smell, taste and touch, even colours and images. He was glad that Gandalf and Aragorn had chosen a room located in a quiet corner of the house for him - near enough to the others for his call-bell to be heard instantly, but not so near that he had to endure every shutting door and footstep in full force. But footsteps there were now, small ones, familiar and beloved, and Frodo turned in bed. At once he winced. The movement caused his aching shoulder to throb. His neck hurt, too. He hoped Sam would not ask him to get out of bed.

"Good morning, master!" Sam's voice was bright yet soothing as he bustled into the room, carrying a small covered tray. "It's a right dreary day outside, but warm enough in here, though I can get you some extra blankets or another quilt if you're chilly. . . ."

"Extra blankets would be nice, thank you, Sam." Wearily Frodo pushed himself up in bed, allowing Sam to set down the tray and prop pillows behind him. 

"I've brought your first breakfast, and Aragorn gave me your medicines for you, sir. Said to see that you take 'em. He said to remind you that part of it's to clear up any infection, and part of it's to help your finger pain."

Frodo nodded, vague memories of the pills from the hospital coming back to him. 

"But first you've got to eat something."

"Sam, I really don't feel up to it - "

"Come now, master. Just a little." Lifting the lid, Sam revealed a small bowl of smoothly prepared porridge. . .two slices of hot buttered toast and a little dish of orange marmalade and another of strawberry jam. . .a coddled egg in a little cup. . .a cup of hot tea prepared just the way he liked it, with cubes of sugar ready to add. . .and a glassful of chilled apple juice. A small medicine-cup perched on the tray held pills, much to Frodo's distaste. "What do you think you'd like to try first?"

"Maybe the toast. With strawberry jam on one slice." Trying to settle more comfortably in bed, Frodo put out his hands for the colourful spreader and the piece of toast. Silently Sam offered them, pushing the jam-dish closer for convenience. Putting jam on the toast was not yet as natural as it once had felt, but Gandalf and Aragorn had insisted that he must use his injured hand, lest it weaken and grow useless, so - in accordance with their instruction and that of his doctors - he had undertaken to use it as often as he could bear. Still. . . .

Sam retrieved soft blankets from a cedar chest, then spread them gently over his master and sat beside him on cushions set by his bed for guests, watching patiently as he munched at the toast. Though he did not criticize, worry was evident in his warm gaze, and Frodo could tell he was fretting.

"Are you feeling all right this morning, master?"

Frodo shook his head. "Everything hurts. All the - all the injuries. They still pain me."

Sam looked distressed. "And there's not nothing Aragorn can do, or the doctors?"

"I don't think so. The medicines help a bit. Aragorn says it will take time as much as anything." 

"Ms. Allison ought to be over in a little while, from what she said last night. Won't that make you feel a sight better, sir?"

Frodo gave a slight nod. "She's a good nurse. I'm glad she's coming. It - it isn't the same as hobbit company, exactly, but. . .it is pleasant." 

"Oh, it is, is it?"

With a start, Frodo looked up to find Allison waiting at the door, a warm smile spread across her features. He could hardly help smiling for her. "Come in! Do forgive my talking about you as if you weren't there - I didn't know you had come yet!"

"I only just arrived." Entering, she set a sack down in a corner and came to his bedside, settling herself beside him quietly. "First breakfast, huh?"

"Only Mr. Frodo's not feeling much like it today." 

Frodo scowled at Sam, though immediately he regretted it - how could he? Sam, who had carried him up Mount Doom? Sighing, he shook his head apologetically. "Forgive me, Sam. . .it's only that I'm not feeling very well this morning."

"May I?" Allison put out her hand, and Frodo shrugged. Gently she laid it against Frodo's brow. "No fever. You feel a little cool, though." Turning to Sam, she smiled. "Sam, would you mind making your master another hot drink? He'll need more than just tea. Get Aragorn to show you how to make a cup of hot chocolate; I think Mr. Frodo will like that."

"O'course." Rising, Sam made his way out, leaving them alone. Allison leaned closer, lowering her voice.

"Now, you don't have to eat up every bite to take those pills. But you do need something on your stomach. Do you think you could finish up all the toast, or a piece of the toast and the egg or some porridge?"

"I could try."

"That's good. Try for me, then. And the hot chocolate will help warm you up more. Drink your tea now, while you wait for it; you need all the warmth you can get." 

Biting into the toast, Frodo decided.

Between Sam and Allison, this might not be so bad after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Second Breakfast

"Frodo."

Frodo looked up from the window - he felt too ill even for television this morning - and met Allison's gaze. She smiled, and immediately he noticed that she was carrying a small tray. At once he shook his head.

"Please, I - I'm not hungry - "

"It's raspberry. One of the smoothies I made for you. And a chocolate muffin. I brought you a nice big one from Alpine. I thought you might like that."

A raspberry smoothie? And a muffin? Curiously Frodo watched her. 

She didn't seem to be going away, at any rate. 

"I suppose I could try."

"Good." Settling the tray over his lap, she sat beside his bed. "The smoothie is very simple - you just sip it through the straw, like the drinks you had in the hospital. And I think you know all about how to eat muffins!"

"That I do!" Frodo managed a small grin for her as he tried a sip of the raspberry-ish drink, thick and sweet on his tongue. Carefully he tried a bite of the large muffin and was delighted to find that it did indeed taste deliciously chocolatey, unlike any muffin he had ever tasted before. 

He only wished it would go away, this on-again-off-again feeling about eating. It was growing most tiresome.

Elevenses

"Frodo?"

Frodo kept his eyes tightly shut, pointedly ignoring Aragorn's voice. He ached all over, and was cold despite his warm covers, and it was all bad enough without having to answer. 

"Frodo. . .I have brought elevenses for you."

The combination of the word 'elevenses' on Aragorn's lips and the touch of his hand on Frodo's shoulder made the tiny hobbit curl into an even tighter ball, turning away. "No, thank you."

"Frodo, you must eat - "

"Don't *want* it."

A soft rustling sound - evidently Aragorn had settled himself into the cushions set beside Frodo's bed for guests. Inwardly the Ringbearer groaned. 

"Do you not at least wish to see what it is? Sam has made up one of your favourites: soft-cooked eggs cracked into a bowl of buttered toast pieces."

"'m not hungry. Everything hurts."

"Everything?"

"My finger, and my shoulder, and my neck, and I ache all over too," grumbled Frodo fretfully. 

"I see. Well, if you would eat, I could give you additional medicine for it. . . ."

Frodo fell silent, still stubbornly refusing even to open his eyes.

"Will you not even try the orange juice?"

Orange juice? Frodo half-opened one blue eye. Yes, that was a glass of orange juice in Aragorn's hand. Warily he opened both eyes completely, studying the glass for a long moment. "Is it chilled?"

"Of course." Aragorn held it out temptingly. "Try just a little, at least?"

"I suppose I could *try*." Very cautiously Frodo pushed himself up in bed, allowing Aragorn to pull pillows and bolsters up behind him for support. Accepting the glass, he held it in both hands, tilting it to his lips to sip carefully. 

Delicious. 

He took longer sips, drinking eagerly. Aragorn smiled. 

"Do you like that?"

Frodo nodded. 

"Tty a little of the egg and toast for me?" Aragorn offfered a spoonful of the egg with a bit of toast. 

Hesitantly Frodo opened his mouth, allowing his companion to slip in the small spoonful of food. It didn't make him feel sick, and it was pleasantly hot. Washing it down with a bit of juice, he opened his mouth for more. Smiling, Aragorn provided it.

"Good, isn't it?"

Again Frodo nodded. 

"You need to take as much nourishment as you can. The hospital fed you while you slept, but that is not a way that will help your body as normal food does. It will sustain you when you are too ill to eat, but you are well enough now to take enough nourishment, and you no longer need such help. And you have all of us at your command, ready to prepare whatever you might wish to eat. Sam in particular, and your cousins, are most eager to discover what you think you can manage. And Allison would like to help as much as she can."

"Don't feel like thinking about it." Frodo accepted another mouthful of egg and toast, following it with a long sip of orange juice. "Not hungry."

"I know. But if you do not eat, we will have to take you back to the hospital, and they will have to feed you through your veins again. Do you want that?" Aragorn's voice was gentle yet matter-of-fact.

Frodo shook his head. 

"I thought not." Aragorn offered another spoonful of toast and egg. "I know it must be difficult, but try for us, Frodo, please. Once you finish this meal, I can give you more medicine to ease your pain."

"Where is Allison now?" Frodo nipped up the spoonful of nourishment. 

"In the kitchen, teaching Sam and the others how to make those 'smoothies' for you. They are good for getting nourishment into you when you do not feel like eating."

"Oh." Frodo winced, shifting uncomfortably. "My hand hurts awfully."

"Just a bit more and you can have medicine. I promise."

Sighing, Frodo opened his mouth obediently, relieved when at last Aragorn deemed he had eaten enough to have pain medicine. Gratefully he swallowed down the pills with juice.

"Now try to rest. I will be back to look in on you; most likely the medicine will make you feel a little sleepy, and that is all right. Let yourself rest, and we will wake you when you need to eat and take medicines."

With a nod, Frodo closed his eyes and snuggled down into his nest of pillows and blankets. Soon enough he felt almost as if he were floating, and sleep began to claim him.


	5. Chapter 5

Rain beat at the windows, and Frodo sighed. It had been a dreary day all morning, with nothing pleasant to look upon outside, only grey. The damp seemed to get into his bones now; never before had it done so during wet days, but today his wound ached, and his neck ached, and he felt generally too ill to leave his bed, though Gandalf and Aragorn and Allison had reassured him that he could, and should, get up for short periods several times daily. At present he had chosen to remain curled up in bed, huddled beneath his soft blankets and thick comforter and cosy crisp sheets, rising only to attend to personal needs. 

Sam had managed the news matter-of-factly, delivering his master's breakfast to his bed on the large, sturdy tray provided for that purpose. But it had been hours since Frodo had seen him, though he had occasionally been vaguely aware of Allison's gentle hands tucking the covers more closely about him or feeling his forehead. Aragorn had brought Frodo's elevenses and sat with him while he ate, but he too had gone some while ago, leaving Frodo in a pleasantly drowsy - albeit slightly lightheaded - haze from additional pain medication. 

"Mr. Frodo, sir?"

Frodo turned in bed, relieved. The sound of Sam's familiar voice brightened the room, and at once he sat up, curious, for Sam carried the tray this time as well. 

"Beg pardon, sir, I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. . .no, I was just. . .thinking." Frodo smiled as Sam set the tray before him, the cover still concealing the contents. "What is it?"

Sam grinned proudly as he lifted the lid. "Beggin' pardon, sir. . .I said what you need is a good mug o'Mam's tater soup, and here it is." Unveiling a tray of Bell's best potato soup, a cup of milk, and a small glass of lime jelly with whipped cream on top. "I thought you might like something sweet to follow, something light - I know you're feeling right poorly, but will you try just a bit? For your Sam?"

Frodo smiled gratefully. "A few bites, at least. I promise."

Delight spread across Sam's face. "Eat up, then, master, while it's good and hot. Do you good, it will."

Stirring the soup, Frodo took a spoonful, savouring the familiar taste that had comforted him through so many illnesses. Sam sat beside him on the cushions provided by the low bed for visitors. 

"There is one more thing," he confessed after a moment. "I hate to bother you while you're eating, but - no better time to talk about it than the present. There's something Mr. Gandalf and Aragorn and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and Ms. Allison and I have all been talking about, and we think you need to hear it, no way round it." He drew a deep breath as Frodo looked curiously over the mug of soup at him. "You're still looking right peaked, master, and no mistake. What you need is plenty o'good food, whatever you think you can eat, and whatever we can find that you can eat. Aragorn says there are some foods you need lots more of now, and he'll help us with that. But you can help us by telling me what you want to eat. And there's lots o'cookbooks here, some of 'em right promising, you could look through to see what might tickle your fancy." Hope lit his face. "I've got two or three good ones picked out already I could bring you after you have your lunch and a bit of a rest."

Frodo nodded. "That sounds fine. If you'll leave me something to write with, that might be a way to practice my writing as well - Aragorn says I need to begin using my hand again now."

"All right, Mr. Frodo. Only promise me you won't go tiring yourself. I can help you with things while you're still just starting to get well."

"I know. But I should try." 

The soup went down more easily than Frodo had expected anything to, so that not even the ache in his shoulder could stop him from finishing the mugful, much to Sam's evident delight. That and half the cup of milk consumed, he tried the jelly, which slid down his throat in cool waves, melting against what still seemed a too-dry throat. At last, however, he abandoned his efforts and pushed glass and spoon away.

"No more, please, Sam. I couldn't swallow another mouthful."

"You did fine, sir. Now I'll just go take this to the kitchen and leave you to rest, unless there's something I can do for you first."

"No. . .no, Sam, thank you. But if you could bring those books back - I'd rather sit up and look at them for a little while before I try to lie back down."

"Of course, Mr. Frodo." Gently Sam smoothed his master's covers, lifting the tray, then padded out. He was gone for only a short while before returning with five books, most of no great size, a strange object, and several odd-looking pens, all carried once more on the tray. "Thought this would be easier for you to write on, sir. As to the pens, Aragorn thought these better - they're what these folk use, and if you drop 'em in bed they won't get ink everywhere. I've been doing a bit o'practicing with 'em myself, and they aren't half bad, but we got these nice ones special for you; see, the finger-grip is cushioned and all."

"Thank you, Sam." Frodo smiled as his companion set up the tray, opening the strange rectangular object to reveal pages within.

"Now this here's a note-book. I don't reckon as we ever saw many of those back home, 'cept in places like Rivendell maybe, or they might have 'em in Gondor. But it keeps all your pages together for you. Nice, ain't it?"

"Very." Nodding, Frodo began to read the titles of the books.

The Big Book of Breakfast

Goodness Gracious (what a strange name for a cookbook, Frodo mused)

2001 Chicken Recipes

The Little Big Book of Comfort Food

The Ultimate Brownie Book

To this last Sam pointed proudly. "I thought you might like that one. Aragorn gave us all brownies to eat the first day he brought us to see you, and they were - Mr. Frodo, they weren't like nothing I've ever tasted. I reckon they're a bit like that hot chocolate in Rivendell. Remember how much you liked that?"

Eagerly Frodo nodded. "And this is a book all about - brownies?"

"All kinds o'variations on 'em. You just tell us what you want, and your Sam'll get it baked. I may not be much good for fancy stuff, but I never yet saw a recipe I couldn't follow. Mr. Gandalf and Aragorn said they'd help me figure things out if I got stuck. They're right good treats for putting weight back on you, I'm told."

"They sound delicious." Paging through Goodness Gracious, Frodo began to feel almost interested in food again. Turkey and mushroom soup. . .sweet corn muffins. . .applesauce snap. . .mushroom casserole. . ."my mom's" sweet potatoes. . .company carrots. . ."Vidalia" honey baked onions". . .garden stuffed potatoes. . . .

"This mushroom casserole sounds delicious, Sam. I don't suppose there's any chance we could have some today?"

Sam looked at the page and sucked his teeth, nodding at last. "I think we've got most or all o'that stuff here already. If we don't, Aragorn says the store's right close, and I have to agree with him - we went there before we came to get you, he and I did. Right strange place, that, but handy, I s'pose." 

"Thank you." Frodo took up The Little Big Book of Comfort Food, a fat hardcover book which seemed perfectly sized for a hobbit's hands, and Sam beamed. 

"The library's full o'those "Little Big Book of" things, Mr. Frodo. Everything about Yule here - they have Christmas instead, so the book's all about that - and all sorts of stories and things. Everything you could think of, just about, I reckon."

Frodo opened the book with interest, flipping casually through the pages. Cinnamon milk toast! Popovers and strawberry butter! Scones! Oatmeal cookies! Applesauce! Chicken with mushrooms! Glazed carrots! Southern corn pudding! Creamed spinach! Cranberry sauce! Maple syrup sweet potatoes! Twice-baked potatoes! Fresh ginger ale! Honeycake! Classic rice pudding! So many familiar and unfamiliar dishes danced across the pages. . .as well as many to prompt reminders of Sam's own specialties: vegetable soup, gingerbread, shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes. . . .

"Sam, this is wonderful. Thank you." He hesitated a moment. "I think I had better start writing these down. Else I'll never remember everything interesting or where it is to tell you."

"Just you take your time, master." Sam smiled. "There's no hurry. No hurry at all."


	6. Chapter 6

"Frodo?"

At the sound of the light knock and familiar voice, Frodo looked up from his pile of cookbooks. He was relieved to see that Gandalf carried a tray; he was beginning to feel quite hungry. The pain pills had taken enough of the edges off his pain for him to feel like eating without coaxing, and the smells rising from the dishes were delectable indeed. 

"Is that supper?"

Gandalf chuckled, approaching the bed, where he set the tray on the floor to help Frodo move aside his writing-tray, papers, and books before setting the supper-tray on the bed. "Yes, it most certainly is. Beef and barley soup with mushrooms, and butterscotch pudding, both homemade by Allison, who will be in to see you soon. She is talking with the others in the kitchen at the moment; I believe Pippin may be begging the recipe for this soup out of her as we speak."

Frodo inspected the tray. Yes - a large bowl full of soup, a little dish of butterscotch pudding, a glass of ginger ale with crushed ice to keep it cold - it all looked and smelled wonderful. As Gandalf took a seat on the cushions by the bed, the little hobbit dug in, stirring the soup before trying a spoonful and closing his eyes in rapture. 

"It's so good."

"I'm not surprised. Some of the Big Folk are excellent cooks, as you already know."

Frodo nodded. Come to that, he *had* rather wondered. . . . "Gandalf?"

"Yes, my lad?"

Frodo tried another spoonful of soup before continuing. "At the - the hospital, how did you explain my - my ears? And my feet? The Big Folk don't have ears or feet like ours. Did they understand because of those - movies, you called them?"

Gandalf shook his head gravely. "Some have never seen them. Most who have believe them only a fairy-tale made up by a teacher. I told them that your - condition - was not a form of what they call dwarfism, but was very much *like* a form of dwarfism, its characteristics including leaf-shaped ears, foothair on feet with leathery soles, and a tendency towards chubbiness, especially through the stomach." His smile returned. "I did mention also that your people commonly take six meals or so a day. Normally the nurses are not so encouraging of between-meal snacks, but there were two reasons to do so with you."

"What were those?" Frodo continued to work on his soup, eating hungrily.

Gandalf chuckled. "For one, I told them how often you were accustomed to eating." His expression sobered. "For the other, you may not realise how much weight you have lost, my dear hobbit, but you are what they call malnourished from going so long without adequate food. Sam recovered more quickly, because he was able to take normal food sooner than you were, but they only released you from the hospital because you were taking adequate nourishment and would be going to a home where someone could provide it for you. Had you not had someone, they would have had to look for other arrangements for you, which could have been. . .far less pleasant."

Frodo shuddered. "I would rather be home. Meaning here."

"I know, my lad, I know. And you are. You are safe here. I promise you that."


	7. Chapter 7

"Master - time for first breakfast."

"Ugh, no, please." Rolling over, Frodo turned his face to the pillow. Even without the cover removed, he could smell porridge, eggs, and toast - his usual first breakfast ever since he was a tweenager, but now he felt sick at the very thought. 

"What's the matter, Mr. Frodo? Are you feeling worse?"

Frodo nodded vaguely.

"Then never you mind. I'll go and fetch Aragorn."

Frodo felt too weak to protest. Besides, perhaps Aragorn would understand what was happening, maybe even be able to make him feel a little better. Soon enough he heard footsteps in the hall - Sam's low padding ones, followed closely by Aragorn's booted feet. A moment later, he caught a whiff of Aragorn's familiar scent - pipeweed and travelworn clothes - as his friend bent over his bed.

"Frodo? What is the matter? Sam tells me you are feeling worse this morning."

Frodo opened his eyes to look up at his companion. "I feel sick." 

"Do you need a basin?"

"Not right now, I don't think. Just - I feel a bit sick."

"Does your tummy hurt?"

Frodo shook his head.

"Are you having any new pain?" Aragorn felt his forehead, nodding in apparent approval.

"No. My finger actually feels a bit better, strangely enough."

Sighing, Aragorn sat back on his heels. "I fear, Frodo, that the sick feeling may be caused by the extra medicine we are giving you for pain."

"Then why did I not feel it before?"

"Because you had just begun to take it. Your body has built up a little now. And when you build up further tolerance, you will not feel so sick." Aragorn patted his arm. "I will not insist that you eat while you feel too ill to do so, but you must take liquids. Whatever you want - ginger tea, ice chips, ginger ale, jelly - "

Frodo's eyes lit up. "Please - could I have some ginger ale? I think that might help."

Aragorn turned, nodding to Sam. "Sam, would you fetch some ginger ale over ice for your master?"

"O'course, sir." And with that, Sam was gone, hurrying into the hallway. 

"There are a great many clear liquids that are not likely to provoke your stomach," Aragorn coaxed. "You might allow Sam to make you some broth for lunch, with jelly or a flavoured ice. Apple juice is not likely to set you to vomiting. If there is anything you feel you can eat, though, you have but to name it."

"Thank you. I think clear liquids will be fine for today at least, though."

"Do you still want your morning pain pill?"

Frodo nodded intently. "Don't you think I should have it?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. It takes the edge off your pain too much to omit it unless this becomes a significant problem - and even then, before I stopped it, I would ask the doctors for medicines to control the sickness. There are such medicines," Aragorn reassured him. "You will not be left to suffer like this without respite. But before we give you more medicine, I think it best if we try a day or two of clear liquids and see whether you recover on your own."

"All right." Frodo looked up to accept a glassful of iced ginger ale from Sam. "Thank you, Sam. I'm afraid I don't really feel up to anything else."

"That's fine, master. I'll send some jelly in for your second breakfast." And Sam was gone, looking only partially relieved. 

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked Aragorn quietly. "A cool cloth for your head, perhaps? You have no fever, but often that feels good when one is feeling sick."

"Yes, please." Frodo set the ginger ale on his bedside table and closed his eyes as Aragorn went into the bathroom. He could hear the sound of a wash-cloth being wrung out under the faucets, then heard Aragorn's footsteps returning, felt the Ranger's gentle touch as he laid the cloth over Frodo's brow. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I will leave you to rest, but I will look in on you from time to time today to see how you are faring. And I will ask Sam how you are eating and drinking. Do not worry, Frodo. . .soon you will feel better. But you must take at least some jelly at second breakfast, so you can have your pills, if you cannot take it now."

"Second, please." Frodo kept his eyes firmly closed. "I'll take them at second. Not now."


	8. Chapter 8

Miserable.

Utterly miserable.

That was how Frodo felt, huddled in his bed, sweating and shivering by turns. He dreaded the prospect of second breakfast, and could not for the life of him imagine how he would swallow and keep down the pills he needed. He longed to ring his bell, so that Aragorn, or Boromir, or dear Sam would come to his aid, but he felt so ill that even the thought of turning in bed made him feel as if he were going to lose what little ginger ale he had swallowed that morning. Aragorn looked in on him from time to time, but it had not been so bad when last he came, some - half an hour ago? Time was difficult to tell when he could not turn to look at his little clock. 

"Frodo! Frodo, there's someone here to see you!"

Pippin's excited voice jolted through him like a wave of movement, and desperately Frodo resisted the urge to vomit. "Please, I - I don't feel well enough for visitors - not today, Pip - "

"You'll want to see this one. I promise." Without waiting for approval, Pippin ran back to the hall and began to coax someone inside, much to Frodo's dismay. . .until he caught sight of the familiar figure.

"Allison!"

"Good morning, Frodo. Pippin tells me you haven't been feeling very well." She eased herself onto the cushions by the bed, laying a cool hand on his damp forehead. "I don't think you're running a fever. . .would you tell me what's wrong and let me take your temperature?"

"Mmm-hmm." Frodo cared little whether Pippin was in the room or not. It was just such a relief to have Allison there. She would know what to do, surely. "I feel sick. Aragorn says it's my pain medicine."

"He could be right. You're on some strong stuff." Taking the "thermometer" from the bedside table, she held it out. "Put this under your tongue for me and keep your mouth closed till it beeps, all right?"

Nodding obediently, Frodo complied, allowing her to place the probe in his mouth before he closed his lips tightly around it. While they waited, she held his wrist - counting his heart-beat, Frodo guessed, from what he had been told. When at last it beeped, she removed the instrument before reading it with an approving nod.

"Ninety-eight-point-two. No fever. Does your tummy hurt?"

Frodo shook his head.

"Any trouble with your bowels?"

He blushed, but shook his head again. 

"It's probably just your medicine. Would you like me to call you in a prescription for something?"

His eyes widened. "Can you do that?"

She nodded, smiling. "I work floor nursing because I enjoy it. I'm really a nurse practitioner. There are a few things I can't write for, but Zofran isn't one of those." The smile faded to seriousness. "Do you think you could let a tiny pill melt on your tongue, just dissolve in your mouth? It doesn't taste nasty."

Frodo hesitated, considering. He didn't know what a "nurse practitioner" was, but he supposed it was someone rather like Miss Goodenough at Frogmorton, who would give herbal remedies in addition to caring for the sick. "I could try."

"Good. I could get you some suppositories for nausea, but this is really the best thing. . . ." Taking a strange device from her pocket, she unfolded it and began pressing buttons, then held it up to her ear. A moment later, she began to speak, just as Frodo had seen people do at the hospital with "phones." This must be a special kind of phone. 

". . .yes, that's right. . .mmm-hmm. . .yes, Zofran." She repeated several numbers which sounded like dosages and pill counts before closing the phone and slipping it back into her pocket. "Pippin, would you run and ask Boromir or Aragorn to pick up Frodo's Zofran from the Walgreen's down the street? Their pharmacy's open twenty-four hours." She gave an address, and Pippin nodded, scurrying promptly off. 

"Now, what's this I hear about you not wanting to eat?"

Frodo hesitated. "I don't feel I could keep anything on my stomach. I know I need my medicines, but I can't imagine how I'm going to get them down."

"They can wait until you have your other medicine, the Zofran. That will work quickly to make you feel much better." She smiled kindly. "If we can get you feeling a little better, would you eat and drink something for me?"

"Yes. . .if I felt better, I could try. . . ."

"I'll make anything you want for you. And you know Sam or Merry or Pippin would do the same."

Frodo considered. The very prospect of feeling better made his stomach turn less at the thought of food, and he tried to contemplate the possibilities, not mulling any one over too long lest he set off actual vomiting. "What about that chicken noodle soup you made my first night home? And the gingerbread? Those were so good. I mean, it was all delicious, but - I liked those especially, and I think if I felt a little better I could eat some of them - "

"Then I'll send out for the ingredients as soon as Boromir brings back your medicine. Why don't we start with a little dry toast first and see how that settles, though?" Taking a notepad from her totebag, she began jotting a list. 

Mentally Frodo began reckoning the days. Half a moment. . .

"It's Sunday. Aren't you supposed to be with your husband on Sunday?"

She looked up, her gaze gentle. "He'd already been called in to see a patient at the hospital. I was having a quiet morning at home anyhow when Pippin came and told me you were so sick."

"I'm sorry."

"Believe me, it's fine." Allison grinned. "You're more enjoyable than the book I was reading any day of the week. I'm only sorry you're not feeling well."

"I feel better with you here." Immediately Frodo blushed, biting his lip. "I mean, it's better with you here - I mean, you know what to do for things - "

"It's all right, Frodo." She smiled. "I understand. Now try to get some rest, and I'll get you a cool cloth while you wait for your medicine."

Frodo lay back, closing his eyes as he waited. He heard the sound of running water in the bath-room, and within minutes felt Allison's soothing hands laying a cool cloth over his forehead and eyes.

"Is that good?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good." Her voice was soft. "I'll be right here."


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Frodo felt as he stirred was a cool hand against his brow. Yawning, he opened his eyes to look up at Allison, who sat by his bed on an oversized cushion. 

"How are you feeling?"

Frodo nodded sleepily as he curled against the pillows. "Not so sick now. Thirsty."

"Good. That's what I was hoping to hear. Half a moment and I'll get you something to take your medicine with and ease your thirst." Rising, she went out into the hall, returning only a few minutes later with a glassful of smooth-looking pale green liquid and a small medicine-cupful of pills. "Now, let's try and get some of this smoothie down you before we try any pills, all right? It's honeydew melon, green grapes, and lemon-lime Gatorade. . .nothing to be afraid of. I know Gatorade is new to you, but trust me about it: it's a drink that's very good for restoring lost fluids. And you know that fruit is very good for you."

"All right." Dutifully Frodo accepted the glass, drinking down some of the soothing mixture before putting out his free hand for the pills. Allison placed them carefully in his palm - one he recognised as the "antibiotic" to heal whatever had caused his fevers in hospital and help his finger-stump heal properly, another which he had been told would help with the messages between his finger-stump and his brain, however that worked, and a third which he recognised as his pain pill. He must have looked nervous, because Allison patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's all right. The Zofran should last a while. You shouldn't feel sick this time." 

"Oh." Relieved, he swallowed them down with sips of smoothie, taking one at a time, reserving the pain pill for last. "Do you think maybe there's something I could have that wouldn't make me so sick? I'm supposed to go and see the doctor again in a while. . .maybe there's something he - she? - I'm not sure which it is this time - could do."

Allison nodded. "It's possible. I don't know all the details, so I couldn't say, but it is entirely possible that you might be able to take a milder medication and still find relief."

"I would like that."

"So would I. For your sake." She smiled, gesturing to the glass. "Come on, now, let's see you drink that down. Slowly is fine, but I want to take an empty glass out of here, not a half-full one."

With a laugh, Frodo tilted the glass to his lips and continued to drink. 

"Do you feel you could take a light lunch in another hour or two?"

Frodo nodded. "Nothing rich, but if I feel as I do now, I could eat something, yes."

"Then I'll make sure you have something here. It's very important you keep your fluid intake up even if you don't feel like solid food; otherwise you could end up back in the hospital *very* quickly. All right?"

"All right." Frodo tried not to look frightened, but the prospect of returning to that *place* bothered him tremendously. Given the choice, he would much rather stay at home with the others, and if it meant forcing himself to drink, then force himself he would. Finishing the smoothie, he handed the empty glass back to Allison, who gave an approving nod.

"Good work. Now try to get some more rest. I'll be right back."

Frodo lay still, watching her go, meaning to stay awake for conversation. . .but already he felt his eyelids sliding closed.


	10. Chapter 10

Hunger.

It was the first thing Frodo was vaguely aware of when he awoke, though it wasn't a strong sensation. . .more like a minor nagging urge.

Still, the sight of Allison still at his bedside was a welcome presence indeed; he knew she would understand somehow.

Sure enough, a soft hand reached to stroke back his curls. "Hey there. Feeling any better?"

He nodded. "A little hungry, actually. I think I could eat something."

She laughed. "Good! I have just the thing for you, I think. Give me just a moment and we'll have it ready." Rising, she disappeared into the hall as before. 

Frodo waited.

This time, she returned with a tray, which she set over his legs. . .a cunningly set tray bearing a mug of chicken broth, a little dish of lime jelly, and a cup of that fizzy stuff - yes, ginger ale! 

"Does that look like something you could eat?"

Frodo nodded eagerly, already gathering the mug carefully in both hands. "Oh, yes! I mean - thank you - "

She smiled warmly. "My pleasure, Frodo. Thank your friends. Sam made the broth, and Pippin made the jelly, and it was Aragorn's idea to keep the refrigerator stocked with ginger ale. An excellent thought, I might add."

Frodo motioned for her to sit back down, rejoining him. "Allison. . .why did you decide to be a nurse?"

She arched her eyebrows, though her tone remained light. "Well, what brought this on?"

"Curiousity." He shrugged. "In the Shire, most lady healers aren't married. It's. . .rather unusual."

"Our time is different. It is not uncommon for a married woman to work." Allison shrugged. "I always expected to support myself, I suppose, and I always had this fascination with caring for people. When I was in sixth grade I did this report on Florence Nightingale - oh, you wouldn't know who she was, but - she was the founder of nursing as we know it in our world. The first really professional nurse, you might say, by most standards. I grew up pretending to take care of my dolls, and - well, I just never thought of anything else."

"Oh." Frodo nodded, continuing to sip his broth as he listened. "So you enjoy your work."

"I do. Some days it's very draining, especially all the paperwork that gets between me and the patient these days, but much of the time it's very rewarding too. As it was with you." She smiled warmly. "You were the kind of case we wait an entire career to see. Thank you for letting us take care of you."

"Thank you for taking care of me." Frodo felt his cheeks flush, and set down the last of the broth in favour of the jelly and ginger ale.


	11. Chapter 11

Frodo drowsed intermittently for the rest of the day, waking only to eat, drink, and take an occasional Zofran melt for Allison. As he expected, she pressed him to drink, particularly the clear or brightly coloured fluids called Gatorade, which tasted somewhat salty to Frodo, but which Allison assured him were precisely what he needed just now. Startling, however, was the moment when he woke briefly around bedtime to the sensation of Allison's gentle hands tucking him in.

"Shouldn't you be home?" he managed, words half-slurring from sleep.

Allison shook her head. "I've already called my husband. He's got to stay late at the hospital tonight. I can be with you all night, if you'll have me."

Feeling selfish, Frodo nonetheless nodded shyly. "Please. . .if you can stay. . .don't leave me."

"I won't leave." Soothingly she tucked blankets more closely about him, plumping his pillows as best she could.

Closing his eyes again, Frodo fell at once into dreams.

~~~

He was standing on the edge of a great precipice - inside the mountain, over a lake of fire. In one hand he held the chain from which the Ring dangled.

Why not claim it? 

Why not undo all the evil that had been done? Why, who knew what this could do? Perhaps it even had the power to undo death. . . .

"Frodo. . . ."

He looked about. 

He was alone, yet still he could hear that familiar, beloved voice.

"Frodo."

To see that face again. . . .

Without another moment's thought, he pulled the Ring from its chain and slipped it onto his finger. . . .

"Frodo! Frodo!"

Frodo started, a cold sweat drenching his pajamas and bedding. He was in his own bed, far from Middle-earth. Allison bent over him, hand firmly but gently on his right shoulder. She looked concerned.

"You were having a nightmare," she explained soothingly. "I wouldn't have woken you, but you were crying out in your sleep."

"No. . .thank you. I'm glad." Shuddering, Frodo sat up, swaying slightly from a wave of dizziness. Allison caught him with a hand at his back. 

"Would you like a change of gown and sheets? That can't be comfortable."

Frodo nodded appreciatively. "Sam can help me with that, though - "

"Nonsense. I'm right here, and not doing anything. Sam's finishing up the supper dishes, I think - come to that, would you eat some supper for me once we get you settled?"

"What is it?"

"Chicken noodle soup and gingerbread. Just what you requested."

Frodo couldn't help smiling. "Did you have anything to do with it?"

Allison laughed, rising to fetch clean sheets and pajamas. "I did make it, yes. Boromir went to the grocery for me, and Aragorn sat with you while you slept so I could cook. Sam and Merry and Pippin helped me in the kitchen. I made enough for everyone, so we'd have supper out of the way as well. We saved you plenty - even with Pippin at the table."

"Thank you. I think I could eat some of that."

"Then I'll bring you a tray once we get you all settled." Kneeling beside him, she began to help him out of his pajamas and into fresh ones. Frodo closed his eyes contentedly.

Here, with Allison, he was safe.


	12. Chapter 12

"What's this?"

"Second breakfast!" Pippin beamed proudly as he set the tray over Frodo's legs. "I thought I'd take a try this morning. Take a look; see if there's anything there you want. If there's not, I'll eat Boromir's boots, and that's saying something!"

Laughing, Frodo lifted the lid, his laughter rapidly fading as he caught sight of a puffy mushroom omelet, still fluffy and hot. . .hot buttered toast with little dishes of jam and marmalade. . .and a glassful of orange-juice. 

"It's perfect, Pip. Thank you."

"Do you think you can eat it? I tried to pick something you liked." Pippin's face wore anxiety like a mantle, and Frodo felt guilty at once.

"Of course." Taking knife and fork, he began work on the omelet. "When did Allison leave?"

"Right after you went back to sleep from first breakfast. She snuck out then, said she'd come back tonight with supper. I wonder what she'll bring tonight."

"We need to do something special for her when I'm feeling better. She has been awfully kind."

Pippin nodded. "We could make a special meal for her. She won't have had a hobbit meal before. That would be something different, but something nice. I think our food is as nice as any here."

"So do I, Pip." Frodo smiled, taking another bite of omelet. "So do I."

***

"Ready for luncheon?"

Frodo looked up curiously. Elevenses - a muffin and one of Allison's smoothies, provided by Sam - was rapidly wearing off, and the smell rising from the tray Merry held in his arms was irrestible. The sick feeling of the day before had not returned, thanks to judicious use of Allison's Zofran, and Frodo tried to deduce the contents of the dishes from where he lay propped on pillows.

"I am. What is it? Anything sounds good."

"Well, let us hope you like my cooking." Ruefully Merry set the tray down on Frodo's bed, removing the cover. "Cranberry chicken, mashed red potatoes, green peas, tossed salad with ranch dressing and baked lemon-cake puddings. And there's more of everything where that came from, so just you eat up."

"Thank you, Mer." Pushing himself up a little further in bed, Frodo poured some of the dressing over his salad and set to work. "Oh, Mer, this is delicious."

He grinned. "You say that now, but you'll be singing a different tune tonight when Allison comes, won't you? Tonight it'll be hers that's the best. Never mind!" he teased as Frodo opened his mouth to protest. "It's quite all right. The rest of us are all the same. She's a cook worthy of a hobbit, isn't she?"

Frodo nodded. "Not common in this age, from what I gather."

"Oh!" Merry's eyes widened, and he broke into a broad smile. "I nearly forgot to tell you: we have discovered that there is an entire TV channel devoted entirely to food. Pip and I thought you might enjoy it. Would you like me to turn the TV on and find it for you?"

Frodo blinked, nodding. "Please!"

Claiming the remote control, Merry turned on the TV and began expertly changing "channels," forcing Frodo to look away lest he grow dizzy from the jumping array of programs. At last, however, his cousin crowed in triumph.

"Here it is, Frodo! Just look!"

". . .and y'all come right back after the break, y'hear?" 

Turning back to the TV, Frodo goggled in astonishment. There stood the most pleasant-looking lady - very much like a ladyhobbit, soft and round, with grey hair and an infectious smile, her eyes dancing. Quickly the image dissolved into what Frodo had learned were "commercials" - advertisements for things that sellers wanted one to buy. 

"Merry, did you see her?"

Merry nodded in wonder. "She must have a program on here. I wonder who she is? Would you like me to leave it on so we can find out?" He glanced back at the tray, nodding sharply to Frodo. "Eat."

"Yes, please." Eagerly Frodo sat through the dizzying array of commercials clearly designed to dazzle the onlooker into buying their wares, returning to work on the salad and chicken. He had to admit that the advertisements worked well - so many of them sounded interesting, from sweets to eateries, and he made a mental note to take some names down later. At last, however, the lady returned, much to his delight. She had a strange, comforting accent, and padded comfortably about her kitchen in a way that - well - 

"Sam!" Frodo called suddenly, not taking his eyes from the TV.

"Coming, sir!" A moment, and Sam skittered into the room. His eyes went first to Frodo, then to the TV, and his mouth opened slightly. "Well, if that don't beat all - "

"Who does she remind you of?" asked Frodo softly, scooting over to make more room on the bed.

Sam swallowed tightly. "Bless me, sir, if she ain't a sight like Mam was."

Frodo nodded. Bell Gamgee had been the closest thing to a mother he had known after his own mother's death. Though he had been a tweenager when he came to live at Bag End, she had nurtured him as tenderly as she would have the smallest faunt, and she had nursed him through many illnesses, pulling him through when Bilbo was at his wits' end, whether the ailment was minor - a cold, perhaps - or grave - such as pneumonia or scarlet fever. 

Sam accepted the seat gratefully, staring rapt at the set like the others. "Thank you, sir,": he said quietly. 

"You're welcome, Sam."

They waited. . .and watched. . .and waited. At last the show began to go off. "I'm Paula Deen," warmed the matronly lady, "and I'll see y'all next time," at which point everything else was lost as the three hobbits deteriorated into a flurry of chatter.

"Wasn't she *wonderful*? I could watch her every day!"

"You could, you know. Strider and Gandalf don't want you overexerting yourself. Some walking's one thing, but you're not to be running about. This might prove the ideal entertainment." Merry looked hopeful.

"Now, master, you know I don't hold with them newfangled things. . .but I reckon this is one o'the better ones." Sam nodded approvingly.

"Well, then, there's only one thing to do."

"What's that?" asked Merry curiously.

Frodo reached to the bedside table for the guidebook kept there. "We must find out what time we can see her again."


	13. Chapter 13

"Feels good." 

"Told you it would, sir. Now just you sit up a little, just for a minute, and I'll get your back."

Frodo obeyed, allowing Sam to soap his back gently with the wash-cloth. It felt wonderful. His first real bath since coming home was a delight - at first he had felt too ill, and had allowed Sam and Aragorn and even Allison to help sponge-bathe him in bed. But today he had asked to be carried to the large bathing-tub in his bath-room, where Sam prepared a soothing bath with some kind of aromatic bath liquid which eased the aches in his muscles and cleared his head. Sam had washed his hair and helped him bathe, leaving him to soak comfortably in the heated water save for an occasional movement for washing. It felt splendid. Allison was out erranding this morning, helping Gandalf with the shopping, and he looked forward to surprising them with his accomplishment.

But he was warm now, and ready to return to bed. . .which Boromir had come to remake for him when Aragorn helped him to the bath. Boromir had proven surprisingly skilled in such small matters, and Frodo had grown to love how crisp and fresh the bed always felt when Boromir had seen to its changing. He had a soldier's precision in all that he did, making a bed not the least, and Frodo now looked forward to a warm and comfortable bed awaiting him.

"I'm ready to get out now, Sam. No need to get Aragorn; I think we can manage, don't you?" 

And manage they did - though Sam fussed and clucked a great deal, supporting as much of his master's slight weight as Frodo would allow him, then helping Frodo to the toilet, where the Ringbearer sat on the padded lid while Sam dried him off with soft towels. Before you could say soap he had gotten Frodo back into clean plaid pajamas, thoroughly toweled his hair and feet, and opened the door to the bedroom. Returning to help Frodo rise, he glanced curiously toward the main chamber. 

"Why, Boromir's still out there. Wonder what he wants. . .I hope there ain't nothing wrong with trying to get your bed made back."

"I don't know. I should hope not. . .I'm tired." Frodo leaned against his companion, walking as best he could into the bedroom, where Boromir indeed waited by the bed, holding some strange object, silver and flat. At once the man hurried to fold back the covers further, allowing Sam to ease Frodo right into bed and tuck him in. As the young hobbit stepped back, however, Boromir knelt on cushions beside the bed.

"Frodo. . .I have something for you. Gandalf said that this might be a convenient time to show it to you - no doubt you will want to rest, but I would like to treat you and the other hobbits to something special today, and the others already know what they would like."

Confused, Frodo watched, listening, as Boromir motioned to Sam for the overbed table, set it over Frodo's legs, and set the flat silver box on it. With a click of a lever he opened it, lifting a sort of lid to reveal a screen not unlike that of the TV, only smaller. Curiously Frodo stared. 

"What is it?"

"It is called a laptop computer. It is connected to something called the Internet, which allows you to look at all kinds of information. . .including many eating-house menus." Boromir smiled. He pressed some buttons, and Frodo watched in fascination as the screen danced to life. Beside him, Sam shook his head in amazement.

"Well, if that don't take all. . ." he murmured. 

Lights and colours brightened the screen, and within a few clicks and clacks, Boromir had brought up an interesting-looking page rather like a. . .well, the menu at the Green Dragon, or the Ivy Bush, only different food! Avidly Frodo leaned forward, and Boromir pushed the tray closer for him to get a better look.

"Click that button to make the little arrow move that page down when you wish. You can use the silver part like so - " He demonstrated, and the arrow danced slowly about the screen. " - to make the little arrow move wherever you want, and click on what you want to see, if it's something you can click on." 

Frodo's head reeled. "It's like a menu."

"It is a menu. For an eating-house called PF Chang's. They are very good; they specialize in what is called Chinese food. Foreign food, but very good foreign food. And some of their dishes are not Chinese at all. Will you look and tell me what you would like to have for lunch? I will call them and have them ready our food, then go and get it. You may eat in your bed."

Frodo could scarcely believe it. An eating-house that would prepare food for you to take home! Foreign food! Eagerly he began browsing the page. "It all sounds so good. . . . What about this Wonton Soup? It says it has mushrooms in it."

Boromir nodded and wrote that down on a note-pad. "That sounds fine, little one. What else strikes your fancy?"

Frodo kept scrolling down the page. Everything sounded delicious! Crispy Honey Chicken. . .Sweet and Sour Chicken. . . . "What about Philip's Better Lemon Chicken? With broccoli in a tart citrus sauce, it says. I rather like the sound of that."

"I think you will like it. What about dessert? You should order one of their desserts; if you cannot eat it all at once, there is always the refrigerator. It will keep."

Frodo continued to scroll down the page, goggling at the array of treats displayed in splendor. "What about this Great Wall of Chocolate? Six layers of chocolate cake *does* sound awfully nice. . . ."

Boromir laughed. "The Great Wall of Chocolate is utterly splendid, little one. I think you should try it."

"Then I'll have one of those, please." Frodo continued to scan the page in wonder. "Well, that settles luncheon. . .but what else can this thing do?"

"Let me go phone in your orders and I'll show you. Sam? What looks good to you?"

Sam sucked his teeth pensively. "Well, I don't rightly know, strange as it all is. Maybe some o'that crispy honey chicken; I reckon that sounds all right."

"And a Great Wall of Chocolate for you as well?"

Sam shook his head. "Oh, no, sir. Mite rich for my blood."

"Very well, then." Boromir smiled, rising. "I'll be back in a moment to show you what else this can do. Feel free to keep clicking on the food listings; sometimes they will show you pictures of the food."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Frodo and Sam staring wide-eyed at the screen.


End file.
